


Fealty

by LateralFlexor



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-14 06:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateralFlexor/pseuds/LateralFlexor
Summary: Megatron dials up Shockwave on the viz-feed for another regular debriefing, as well as a habitual sexual escape from work as his loyal lieutenant's reward.





	1. Chapter 1

Undermining the entire Autobot government was something they’d all always dreamed of, and the proposal was quite simple when it was given at one of Megatron’s first meetings: enter their ranks, climb them, surmount them. It was the course of action that required the longest focus, the longest planning, and certainly the most withstanding loyalty. And there was no mech Lord Megatron had entrusted more with its logistics than one of his many top tier lieutenants.

                _“It is the most logical, my liege. I doubt any of them will see it coming,” he had said initially, rising from a bow._

_“Yes, and I do believe you are the best fit for the task-” Megatron said over his rigid shoulder before turning, “my ever loyal Shockwave.”_

\----

                The waiting was never an issue. It was duty. Patience was expected, however long it was merited. This particular mission was no small feat; that much he could say. Though, no bot ever asked.

                ‘Lonesome’ did not necessarily cover the sensation of this sort of isolation. Forced greetings were the extent of office chatter and much more of it was done here than he’d ever experienced in the Decepticon forts. The quiet between the unnecessary hellos were the only blessing besides the routine calls back to base. Though, they too were lackluster without Megatron helming them.

He may have gathered intelligence, but this new place had yielded nothing extravagant or even remotely relevant among its dull employees. The Cliffjumper fellow kept to himself- thank spark- and Brawn had grown less acute each decacycle he’d remained in office “diligently” covering reports on the capital’s expenditures. Half of the entire battalion the Longarm persona entered alongside in bootcamp had either offlined, been deployed, or in that scapegoat Wasp’s case, thrown helm-first into the stockade. The remnant mechs had faded into the very scenery of the Metroplex interior. Thus leaving no one capable of mentally matching the double agent.

                But that was foreseen by everybot. And, it was the point.

                That wasn’t to say he was left alone. Sentinel had kept him plenty busy with menial tasks regarding the space bridge nexus. Watch for this, tweak that, code those, forward these. Megatron was very unlike all those here. Not even _Starscream_ had been this intrusively controlling, annoying, or- though it left his still new glossa with a foul taste- unattractive as he waved around demands as if the underlings were protoformed yesterday; Sentinel never refrained from leaning into another mech’s business. There’d been more than one occasion that “asteroid-sized” atrocity had blocked a viz feed or two leering over his shoulder as the overly shined Minor was currently demonstrating. That bumbling yellow mechling had said it fairly well after all it seemed.

                Longarm had busied himself with the same simple objectives as always under the Elite Guard’s watch. Each cycle, for all megacycles. After encrypting a few more datapads stocked with endless lines of scripts, he’d handed them to Agent Blurr who was more than pleased to raise their speed from zero to a hundred on their way to Perceptor’s lab.

Sentinel stood up, lifting the weighed air from the intel officer’s plating. “Now that that slag’s out of the way, I have a few more things for you to attend to-” he cleared his vocalized obnoxiously, “Senior Cadet Longarm.”

                Longarm’s mouth dreamed of slanting, but within, Shockwave imagined choking the other out. After the slow coming promotions making their rounds per Magnus’ insistence for their own special brand of spoon-fed morale, Sentinel had the pleasure of rewarding the intel bot for his many _many_ stellar cycles of dedication. To nothing more than a senior cadet. It was a long time coming, but Megatron was more than pleased with any sort of progress as he floated among the galaxy’s outer rim’s clusters of debris. Starscream’s plan for infiltration just decacycles before had corroded beneath his heel thrusters, and, with Lugnut’s also having failed a few dozen stellar cycles prior, Shockwave was the last hopeful vestige of anything progressive to occur towards a Decepticon rule.

                “D’you hear me, Officer, or do I need to send you to Red Alert to scrub space barnacles from your audials?”

                Longarm stood harmlessly in front of him, servos taut by his sides as he responded, “I hear you, sir. What duties do you require of me?”

                The vaunting mech raised a brow and his faceplate shifted entirely to the ceiling almost to establish again for the thirtieth time that cycle who was in charge, “The other intel scrubs have been all out sick this cycle- some rust virus or some slag- and Magnus has asked me to give you hard drive cleaning detail.”

                Sentinel’s subordinate stiffened but saluted. “Yes sir, Sentinel Minor.”

                “Cliffjumper’s going to sign you in. Dismissed, cog.” With sufficient grooming to his ego accomplished, the drill sergeant left, servos glued over his waist as he strut out to bark at Jazz who followed suit. What it was about was of no consequence, and Shockwave couldn’t have cared less given today’s plans.

                The unforeseen labor would make no dent in his evening, but seeing as the intercommunications data and systems storage room was now his for the taking, he could continue to be unbothered while he discussed his late findings with Lord Megatron.

                Shockwave was typically the one to reach out, and he did so every quadracycle or two, but Megatron made sure to… upkeep the morale with his only successful officer. Shockwave was as of last stellar cycle the only Decepticon in history to have been in the field so to speak for this long. Megatron and some of the more dare he say jealous comrades of his never let him forget it. His liege was quite supportive, if Megatron could ever really be called such a thing to anybot else’s needs. The surprisingly upbeat calls never once bothered him as nobot else caught his attention like his master could; he always revealed something interesting whether or not it was work oriented. Everymech at Metroplex was ungodly bland even by Shockwave’s standards, and the periodic idle chatter with somebot who truly knew the full extent of this lie and not the façade was a blessing. Especially when the praise landed upon _him_.

                Starscream expected great preening, and Lugnut practically recycled anything that came his way back to Lord Megatron and “all his glory,” but Shockwave appreciated the little things to keep his helm above acid in this Primus-foresaken building and took them without a fuss. Megatron called even unscheduled at times, and hearing his leader rattle off future tactics or the seeker’s latest antics allowed the lieutenant’s traces of importance among the ranks to reenter his energon lines, hot and renewed. Drivel and petty gossip among colleagues here weren’t enough to hold interest if the mech listening didn’t extend a damn to anybot’s welfare at the capital. They’d all be dead soon anyway.

                The two moons over Cybertron hung low in the sky he noticed as the skylights above dimmed, their pinkish auras swirling minutely in the atmosphere. Soon, his lord would be coming for the secure connection codes, and he’d need to be secure himself to do so.

                The long armed mech straightened a datapad to his right before making way down the towering corridors. Two lefts then a right then down six stretches of vaulted ceilings. His pedes sidestepped any separations in the floor tile to occupy his mind until he felt the first charged ping ring in his audials.

                A pathetically stiff minibot met him at the IDAS entryway, servos folded somewhere behind him. “I see they entrusted this to you, Senior Cadet. I know you’ll do well,” came his workplace politeness.

                “I do hope so myself. Sir,” Longarm said as he wormed by.

                As he meandered down the hall, Cliffjumper’s frame grew smaller yet before calling down to him, “Now, I’m going to type in the security code for the outer facility. Once it locks you in, that’s it. I’ll give you about four megacycles in here. I’m forwarding the inner locking mechanism’s code to you now. Comm. me if you need anything.”

                Privately, the cadet clicked back to his master over the feebly encrypted commline as he tapped in the code to enter the inner sanctum. The walls inside were covered, blocked out by stacked piles of yet to be reviewed footage of every single call that had ever succeeded or even tried to filter through Cybertron. Most had been damaged early in the war- Megatron despised civilian black mail through the council’s greasy servos- but what had survived was stored in the IDAS facility. Once a building, now a few thousand smoked cassettes in a forgotten room. Shockwave could easily convince them of their uselessness, but that was work.

                And this meeting was for pleasure.  

                Longarm disengaged his secondary alt form as he lowered himself in to the chair in front of a modestly sized monitor. Through its blue colored mazes of texts, he isolated and manufactured a mirror code to take the place of the one he intended to use for the viz feed. Megatron was fed the line of true code quickly while the mirror script was sucked in to the mainframe’s system as its front.

                The viz feed crackled before its colored lined aligned to reveal Megatron, a mech who’d already appeared giddy as far the debonair mech could under his trained facial expression. He kept a quiet sly smile as he swirled one of his twisted cans in servo, the oil already more than half depleted.

                “Shockwave. It is good to see my most loyal mech alive,” he sipped the dregs of his highgraded fluid, “and well.”

                He bowed his helm respectively, “My lord. 

                Megatron’s optics narrowed as he inspected the surroundings, “This is not your office. Something new this evening, Shockwave? Or have I caught you at an improper time?”

                “No, never, my liege. I’ve been bestowed the tedious objective of tidying up their communications store room. But it will not interrupt our evening.”

                The war monger continued to swirl the drops of his beverage, still garnering an entertained grin. “My dear Shockwave. Granted _cleaning_ duty for all his years of _dedication_ …” he drawled with mock disappointment.

                “The others were indisposed. But you and I now have this area to ourselves. Completely secured per Autobot rules and precautions. No bot gets in or out without clearance.”

                His superior downed the last of his third barrel, “Useless, the lot of them.”

                Shockwave’s nod went unseen, but in truth he did agree. Some would have made fine assets to the Decepticon cause, if only through their pitiful attempts to amass and organize information. It was practically every cycle Shockwave found himself able to glean neglected fragments of data from the hardlines.

                Megatron began lackadaisically scribbling circles around his console’s buttons. Just behind him Shockwave snagged a glance at his disheveled berth and another crumpled barrel. “My lord, I do ask that perhaps it would be safer to await my more formidably encrypted commline frequency before we engage next time. While the meager drones around lack any disciplines in security practices, the superiors do often supervise live incoming frequencies.”

                There was a hum of approving admiration from the light static of the connection, “I understand, however I wouldn’t be that foolish if I hadn’t done so after deploying four hundred other empty lines simultaneously. You said there were only ten bots manning the posts, correct?”

                “Indeed, my lord.”

                “With every intel officer out for the cycle?”

                “Indeed.”

                “And you and I know how bothersome it’s been in the past for those aristocratic crankshafts to spare a mere shred of time on a barrage of calls?”

                “I… yes, my liege.”

                Megatron raised his empty barrel in his direction before setting it aside. “Then there we have it.”

                That was an intriguing measure indeed, however unsound it was at the core. At least he was not overly inebriated. “I thank you for the consideration, my lord.”

                His leader continued to scrawl along the console, a more sultry smile presenting itself, “You’re welcome, _senior cadet_. I must say I intended to toast to your success, however I found myself… rather enthused. My apologies, Shockwave.”

                “It is not an issue, Lord Megatron. After all I do not possess any sort of equivalent liquid sufficient for taking part in the sanctity of a toast.”

                “You have a way with words, don’t you, officer…” the larger mech snickered.

                Timidly, the tank rubbed at a tread over his arm, “For you, my liege. You read my latest packets already?”

                “Yes. As I said, I was eager.”

Even that particular word had the gray and blue-green drawing his kneeguards together. “I-… thought this would have been more routine, my liege.”

                “Well, now you and I have something to celebrate. All the more reason to make it more satisfying for you. You’ve done me quite well.” The last phrase was hitched a bit, the subordinate noticed, and his antlers twitched as it dappled his audials.

                Megatron shifted his weight on his hips, hidden presently under his personal berthroom communications system. “Mmm. Shockwave, before we begin, I will ask one thing of you.”

                Again, the twitch of his antlers. They both folded back a hair in anticipation. “Anything, my lord.”

                “I wish to gaze upon your true colors.”

                With an absence of hesitation, Shockwave deactivated his armor shaders, his outer layer paint rippling away to reveal a richly saturated indigo. He could hear the beginning of a husky chuckle, and before he could realize his position, the inferior’s helm lowered, unaware he had leaned back. The act had always made him feel bare, but debauched. It warmed his circuits as much as touches could. He never imagined himself to have displayed such before his master.

                “Don’t enjoy yourself so thoroughly just yet, Shockwave. There are many pleasantries to come that shall exceed that for you…”

                Shockwave’s kneeguards grated against one another, threatening to spark in the dry air of the room. Megatron understood it was safe to proceed as planned, but he extended another long gaze at his underling. There were no cameras in the room, no surveillance systems of any sort as to protect the data tapes against any sort of copying and redistribution. However, Megatron’s optics encouraged him to find some sort of bug.

                The long-limbed mech scanned the room, sensors indicating no sign of any outputting signals nor heat signatures of any kind. Cliffjumper himself had granted them not an unusual amount of time to devote the intel officer to his cleanup, but indefinitely it was all secure. Shockwave had never once been in the room, but there seemed to be a level of unspoken clearance he garnered in his time since being here. Then again, he was sanctioned by Cliffjumper… perhaps the Autobots had a more defined system in place than previously suspected.

                With a minute nod to his commanding officer, Megatron’s intensity lessened from his visage. His inferior was bubbling with a question, he could tell. “Yes, Shockwave?”

                “My lord, I… did you wish to review the most recent reports now or… after?”

                How typically on-task. “A-ah… I shall tell you when.” Megatron’s forearm twisted and Shockwave lurched almost as if to touch him.

                “My liege-”

                “Is it your curiosity that drives you to see, Shockwave, or is it desire?” The Decepticon leader pushed away slightly from the console to reveal what exactly he was doing. His plain yet thrilling spike was there, gracefully being stroked by a dark gray servo. And it looked as though it had been busied for quite some time.


	2. Chapter 2

                Shockwave let out a choked sigh; at least the discomfort he felt he’d been privy to was not painful. It was… for him, he believed?

                His master’s buzzed circuits may have made him more forward this evening though there was no apparent rush on either side.

                Megatron’s servo drew up the shaft again, gathering a thin ring of his lubricant around his digits and palm. “Again, I apologize for my zeal, but I have been awaiting this call for decacycles.”

                Shockwave felt a pressure against his panel as his valve- still covered- pulsed in sync. “B… Forgive me, but I do not understand, Master. What if I had not attained the promotion of position?”

                It was getting to be much more difficult watching his lord’s face and not his under-the-table activities. Megatron’s expression softened more yet as he slowly circled the head of his spike. “I ensure my soldiers receive what they deserve, Shockwave. If you were here, I’d be bestowing much more.” With that promise, Megatron’s hips canted forward, his spike sailing through his wet servo.

                Shockwave gently placed a harmless servo over his lower middle, feeling the whirling gears and mechanisms behind it. If he could call this new sensation anything, surely it was apprehension. Or, extreme flattery? But he’d never succumbed to it so deeply before. Megatron’s newfound “zeal,” as he called it, was more unpredictable than any of the former times the two had called. Never had he heard such a brazen response to any… question. Especially concerning his competence.

                “Why don’t you open for me, Shockwave?” Megatron practically cooed at him. He hadn’t stilled his insistent fisting of his spike while Shockwave was perusing his mental faculties. The only change was the enticing expression he was displaying.

                His red optic moved imperceptibly, eyeing his leader’s hooded optics as Megatron now extended his time spent traveling from base to tip. Without pressing his master’s patience any further than he already felt responsible for, Shockwave raised his pedes, situating their flat bases against the desk’s edge. This was a particularly… exposed position, he believed. Usually their trysts were fairly timid on his part, but the emboldening heat in his spark drove him passed his typical boundary. The excitement had yet to taper off.

                “Like this, my liege?” he questioned softly, any harshness of anxiety hidden from his tone.

                There was a startling groan from his counterpart, but there was a response indeed. “Mmh, you could not look any more graceful.”

                Stings pierced his energon lines, two prominent clusters alighting underneath his visage. Unseen, it was, but his frame curled in a telling way. Megatron’s teeth cracked into view between his semi-full derma.

                His master then squeezed the base of his significantly slick member. “Now, now, Shockwave, sideline the formalities, won’t you? It’s n-nn, not as if this is the first time.”

_Though it always feels as if it is,_ his subordinate thought. The monitor’s chronometer spelled out how long the two had been at it. It had felt longer still, but his leader was waiting and gave away hints of restrained impatience. Delicate claws wormed at his panel’s seams.

                Apparently Megatron was more than content at his less modest touches as Shockwave paid mind to two thick gray fingers beginning to slide over the wetted opening below his lord’s spike. Quite normally he wouldn’t have been privy to it as Shockwave was to all other things, and this private visual never left his memory bank. There was a horrifically brief yearning to press his own stiff spike in it, but never. Never could or would he.

                And that, he supposed, was all right.

                Megatron’s digits never truly pressed inside, instead only the pads of them grazing the superficial walls of the untouchable tight valve. Shockwave maintained his stroking over the hem of his interface panel, only acquiescing when his lord grunted another heady “open.”

                At a moment’s notice, his panel slid back, his own valve exposing itself to his master. His master, who _scoffed._

                “ _Both_ of them, Shockwave. I want all of you.”

                The tank shivered, insides pushing out as he fought to override the coding to conceal his spike. The war of wills was not his loss this time as his spike extended into view. Megatron purred to him approvingly, his valve clenching, pushing out a bit of lubricant brazenly through his two spread digits.  

                Shockwave hesitantly began to work himself, internal fans whirring at the warmth of his interface equipment. A shy bead of fluid sat atop his spike and he used his wrist to bend it slightly back from view. Megatron was many things closely related if not _hasty_ in his extracurriculars, and even if his leader requested his spike, it would undoubtedly be in a likely manner. Megatron gave a temporarily frustrated grunt but relented at the sight of triangular claws dragging up and down through plush valve lips.

                To think that he, a restrictive, quiet spectator was already this aroused for the warlord was… just about shameful. Shamefully reveling, that was, as he dared mimic Megatron’s own split digits on himself to bare his oversensitive opening. Shockwave’s optic dimmed, systems humming as the console did before him and disabled his vocalize to prevent undignified noise. He’d reinstate it per Megatron’s wishes, and only then.

                “Shockwave…”

                Said mech’s helm lulled up heavily, vents heaving at the tone used on him. Megatron’s voice carried, but his typical booming was soft, desperate. Desperate like the tank.

                A brightened glow shown from the red optic, antlers twitching up at attention. The gray mech bit his lower derma, an exposed curve of his denta instilling a willing anticipation in Shockwave. He’d never seen that look anywhere but on the battlefield- a look of somemech truly able to conquer. And now he planned to be held under that power.

                Contentedly.

                “Finger yourself for me,” the warmonger panted, digits clamping the base of his spike to subdue early temptations to come. “I ache to see it.”

                Megatron’s overpowering words made him unsteadily stroke the inner lining’s edge at his valve. His core temperature’s uptick ignited a heat in his sparkchamber, ironing away any remaining trepidation to grow more courageous. An empty gust of breath-like air expulsed from his intake, devoid of unkempt static.

                His partner caught on. “How I’d love hearing your moans, Shockwave,” Megatron said, voice displaying characteristics as if he were about to launch into a speech about the machinations of their couplings. “But how prideful you are… you should be even more so. Unless you’re… concentrating.”

                Shockwave’s optic shuttered.

                “Concentrating on serving your master well.”

                Shockwave’s voice cracked as he interrupted his own thoughts to _not_ have this deviate from a plan he still inwardly fought to follow. Against his wishes, and surely somehow Megatron’s, he spoke: “Please, my lord, I want your spike in me. I-I cannot complete like this.”

                Unexpectedly, he laughed sinisterly, “Oh, Shockwave, if I had you here, I would.” Shockwave’s valve clamped down sorrowfully on the very un-spike-like shape of his digits. Slowing the pace of pumping his slick member, Megatron lidded his optics, teasingly chuckling, “Do you think the Autobots would react kindly to a phallus with no return address making its way to your offices, dear Shockwave?”

                It was a sadistic remark- surely it was with how intently he gazed over his soldier’s form writhing at the idea of being gifted a toy- but Megatron smiled adoringly as he swept his thumb over the head of his spike. He wouldn’t last much longer, and he’d assure that neither would Shockwave.

                Barraging him with compliments to conflict his programming was one of his favored ways to speed things along. The mech always twitched at them, turning his helm from view to fight his urges on his own. His solidarity in that respect was fascinating. And, it never failed to rile Megatron up more to up the ante.

                Pedes splayed apart unabashedly, Megatron dragged his palm up his spike, digits trailing after in a microscopic delay. “How I grow enthused seeing _you_ grow so much wetter for me.” The sentence was meant to instigate an immediate response, but Shockwave instead left his limbs sagging apart on the console’s support slab, languid form insisting for power-saving purposes.

                Aware of Shockwave’s unawareness, Megatron leaned closer to the screen to monitor his already half-gone officer’s fans whirled quickly. Megatron mused he’d radiated his overcharge in his direction, his own charge burning off increasingly with his self-service. _A beautiful creature, nonetheless, he remains._

                “I know your systems crave me, just as I crave yours, my loyal disciple. But, I find myself so close. Won’t you come with me?” he moaned, the caliginous nature of his baritone sound rocking Shockwave even from light years away.

                Shockwave’s audials searched irrationally for a beg to his call and returned with nothing. _I am asking too much_ , he knew. Luckily Megatron was not the rumored version of Soundwave; no telepathy.

                Or so he assumed.

                Megatron relinquished a prized cry to Shockwave as he began encircling his valve again. Shockwave sensed it, helm lifting to watch, frame heaving as he too fingered deeper. He could feel the walls close off on him, nodes tingling as he withdrew his fingers before pressing them in again. The rigidity of his digits were proving unsavory opponents for his valve, and instead he resumed the attention on his turgid spike.

                “My, S-Shockwave, I’ve never seen you pursue your spike so openly.” Megatron hiked his pedes up, thighs close to his huffing chestplate. Unbelievably, with fluid trickling from his opening, Megatron then asked, “Would you frag me in this fashion if you were here?”

                Primus, the expression he received- that full-body shudder- was so impressive. Impressive he hadn’t vibrated clear off the chair. He hadn’t expected such a rise from his officer, but he couldn’t suppress the urge to lick his lips. If Shockwave of all mechs fantasized about entering his commander, it was certainly safer that way than with others. Starscream was a poor candidate to indulge in such; same for that sickly spider-femme. Lugnut came close, but the Decepticon authority never doted on the brute the way he would Shockwave. It wasn’t a fight to say the other lieutenants weren’t as enticing. Shockwave, while he may have fought to stick to the back scenery, was the most well-rounded, and even with no facial structure, was so beautiful to him. 

_This should be entertaining,_ he considered, processor already having found the next gratifying remark to add. Shockwave’s frame arched, spike dribbling opaque blue fluid and valve forming an irresistible puddle on the cold metal of the chair.

                Normally, Megatron would ask to watch him overload from the sporadically tensing entrance alone, but today felt a day for testing the waters. Either the buzz in his system egged him to, or perhaps to test the shallows of his own curiosity, Megatron crooned at the blue bot one final time. His digit-tips pressed further in him than he’d dared to overtly before as he said, “ _Overload_ in me.”

                The phrase punched Shockwave’s spark, frame heating himself from the inside out. A sputtering pair of clicks in his vocalizer emanated from him, a prelude to his loud cry of completion. He begged himself to cry out or give up something- anything- that Megatron took satisfaction in seeing from him. His helm jerked back, small preemptive shocks of overload stabbing into his circuits as he fought to bridge the gap to climaxing. Megatron was a bowed blur in his vision, no doubt struggling to come after his subordinate.

                And then, as he released hold on his self-conscious threads, he stroked his spike feverishly as his valve synchronously tightened down on his embedded digits as his spike ejected a few lines of transfluid that clung to his chestplating.

                Megatron groaned as he held on, aggressively certain he’d watch Shockwave’s orgasm before he fell victim to his own. He’d never overloaded this way for his underling- he’d not even done it alone- but the vulnerability that came with it, here on a call in the safety of his private room, was dangerously more intoxicating than his private reserve of high grade. It was confirmed as his valve sucked his digits in a bit more as he began to come that this would happen again soon.

                That wouldn’t be an issue.

                Shockwave’s reboot was point three percent slower than normal after the trembles and electrical current softened post-overload, but he nagged himself that he’d miss something regardless of the marginal difference. Megatron was still seated before him, mostly unchanged save for a servo clutching the underside of his right thigh, yanking it to him as his vocalizer faltered to give up anything but inconsistent pants and moans. Fitfully, his unpracticed digits fought to penetrate further before reaching incredible resistance. Shockwave’s ventilations hushed as he listened, watching patiently as his lord’s gorgeously soaked digits pulled out, a steady little flood of lubricant pooling out.

                “H-…hnh. Shockwave.”

                Megatron sounded winded, if anything. Shockwave sympathized; in his experience with these calls, the work put in to himself always drained him- and that was leaving out the potent valve-based overload charge.

                Silent as a turbomouse, he acknowledged, “My liege.”

                Megatron’s processor was swimming in diluted charged and heat. Perhaps this high would be a suitable replacement to his avid drinking… He continued to ground himself with his inferior’s nonjudgmental presence.

                The red orb kept watch over its recuperating master a moment. Surely he’d pull through his first haze of this caliber, but the uneasiness that he’d caused it was stubborn. Shockwave’s feelings unfurled, leading him to drop his pedes and draw them in, uncomfortably seated in his mess. The liquid had cooled.

                Megatron’s dreamy expression returned after the worrying contortion it had done a few kliks ago, albeit briefly. Shockwave had taken note and continued to do so as he shut his modesty panels.

                Jumping the gun- in his opinion- Shockwave inquired, “My lord? Are you well?”

                Sighing out, Megatron responded calmly, “Indeed.” His helm lay back to rest on his much more luxurious chair. The sheer weight of gravity on his pedes had them slipping from the desk in no time before he followed Shockwave’s lead in closing up. Primus, he’d gotten a little carried away before, but knowing Shockwave was so accepting of it smoothed his thoughts down from their ruffled state.

                Attempting to add something more substantial to move the conversation along, Megatron opened his mouth where a shrieking could be heard.

                Starscream had begun pounding on the doorframe just outside his quarters indignantly. “My _ever GLORIOUS_ leader _,_ your _brilliant_ lieutenants require your assistance on the bridge!”

                The hammering of metal didn’t stop as Megatron made optic-contact with his sated, still-testing-the-waters intel officer. Extending a sultry look, Megatron asked, “Five megacycles, same time?”


End file.
